


Tell me I'm right

by stilljustbitten



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Grinding, M/M, That's it, sexy men in suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilljustbitten/pseuds/stilljustbitten
Summary: “Didn’t he want to fuck you?”“What—”Andrés takes a step closer, and Martín almost takes a step back but decides not to.“I’m just saying. If he didn’t want to fuck you, he doesn’t deserve you at all. You dressed in this fine suit” — he let’s go of the jacket with one hand, just to run it down Martín’s side, following the fit of the jacket — “and he didn’t want to have sex with you. That’s not fair.”
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	Tell me I'm right

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post this instead of letting it die in my Google Docs.
> 
> I'm posting it as a one-shot, even though it was originally meant to be part of a multi-chapter fic with the working title "Asshole Andrés", because well, that's what he is.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Martín is just about to undress when Andrés walks in the door. He doesn’t see Martín at first - standing in darkness in the far corner of the room, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat hanger next to the door, quietly humming some tune Martín doesn’t recognize. 

Martín clears his throat, making Andrés look up.

“Oh, Martín,” he says in a joyful voice. “I didn’t expect you to be home this early. Or to come home at all.” He adds a small wink at the end of his sentence. 

Martín huffs.

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Didn’t you have a date?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I just expected you to sleep somewhere else. Or at least not to come home alone.”

There’s a slight slur to his words, revealing that he has been drinking.

“Didn’t you have a date?” Martín replies.

Andrés starts walking across the room, in the direction of Martín.

“Just a business meeting, although we did very little business and very much whine.”

He smirks at himself. Then he stops in front of Martín and lets his eyes wander down his body.

“Is that the suit I bought for you?”

“It sure is. I would never be able to find a suit like this on my own.” 

Martín has finished opening the buttons on the jacket and straightens the fabric with his hand. 

“I know,” Andrés says, closing the jacket around Martín’s chest to see how it fits around him. He raises both of his eyebrows.

“I sure made a good choice, huh.” 

Martín just nods, and Andrés looks up at him, still grabbing the jacket.

“So, who deserved to see you in this fine suit?”

Martín backs away a little, smiling nervously, but Andrés doesn’t let go of the fabric. There’s something about his tone, something testing, almost warning. 

“Uh, just- The guy I met with texted me the name of this really fancy restaurant, and I thought that I had to dress up nicely.”

Andrés nods, his expression not giving away anything. He keeps looking at Martín’s chest, and Martín shifts nervously under his glance.

“Why are you home already?”

“Andrés, it’s 2 in the night. It’s not really early to be home.”

Andrés finally looks up. 

“You know very well what I mean. You didn’t end up in bed with him. What went wrong?”

Martín’s eyes widen.

“There doesn’t have to be anything wrong just because a date doesn’t end with sex,” Martín tries. 

“Not for other people, no. But I know you, Martín.”

Martín’s brows furrow.

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

“Didn’t he want to fuck you?”

“What—” 

Andrés takes a step closer, and Martín almost takes a step back but decides not to.

“I’m just saying. If he didn’t want to fuck you, he doesn’t deserve you at all. You dressed in this fine suit” — he let’s go of the jacket with one hand, just to run it down Martín’s side, following the fit of the jacket — “and he didn’t want to have sex with you. That’s not fair.”

Martín feels the blush on his cheeks and is suddenly thankful that the light is dim. 

“I didn’t ask him.”

“Huh?”

Martín swallows. 

“I’m not sure I wanted to. Uh, to have sex with him. I don’t know.” He shakes his head, realizing that he doesn’t know where he’s going and that it really _isn’t_ any of Andrés’ business. “I just wanted to go home.”

“Did he do anything to you?” 

The look in Andrés’ eyes changes immediately.

“What? No. No, he didn’t do anything. Andrés, why are you even asking all of this?”

Andrés smirks.

“It’s just that I don’t understand, it makes no sense that he didn’t take you to the restroom and bent you over the sink and just—”

Andrés doesn’t say the last words but closes his eyes, still smirking, and lets out a silent moan. It sends a shiver down Martín’s back and warmth in the pit of his stomach. He hears the hitching of his own breath and curses himself internally because he’s sure Andrés hears it too.

Andrés looks at him, his head still slightly tilted backward, and smiles, almost devilish.

This time Martín does take a step back.

“What is it, Martín?” He looks down at himself. “Don’t you like _my_ suit? It’s one of the most expensive suits I have. Don’t be picky. Tell me, how was he dressed, your date?”

Martín opens his mouth to answer, but only a small sound escapes him, not even an “uh”. 

Andrés narrows his eyes.

“Did he wear a suit?”

Martín shakes his head, only once. 

“I didn’t think so. You would probably have fucked him if he did. Because he would remind you of— “ when Martín takes a step back this time, he hits the wall “—me.”

His heart is hammering in his chest, feeling trapped against the wall, not under Andrés’ hands, but under his gaze. The intensity of it makes him feel vulnerable, and he knows that he should fight back, but he can’t. Not when Andrés is looking at him like that, not when he’s _right_. 

Andrés takes one step forward, his face inches from Martín’s. In the dim light, Martín isn’t able to see his exact facial features, but it doesn’t matter, he knows them all. The exact color of his eyes, the small wrinkles at the corners, especially when he narrows them like that. He knows how one corner of his mouth is curled up just slightly more than the other, making him look charming, and, right now, dangerous. 

Martín smells the red wine on his breath, and opening his mouth slightly, he can almost taste it, too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, just a whisper, not daring to speak properly.

“Tell me I’m right.”

Andrés shoves the front of Martín’s jacket slightly to the side and places a hand on his chest. He moves his head so his mouth is directly in front of Martín’s ear.

“Tell me you would have fucked him if he looked the slightest like me.”

Martín shivers visibly, and he feels the small breath Andrés lets out when he smiles.

“I thought so.”

Still keeping the distance between their bodies, Andrés places his mouth against the skin on Martín’s neck. Not kissing, just letting his lips touch the sensitive skin there, and Martín lets out a ragged breath.

“I have to go to bed,” he says, but it sounds so weak that he might as well not have said it.

Andrés presses his hand slightly harder to his chest, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to use any force to keep Martín in place. He feels Andrés’ lips move up to his ear, and without a warning, he feels the pinch from Andrés’ teeth on his earlobe.

He almost fucking whimpers and his knees threaten to give away under him. 

“Andrés, please don’t—”

Andrés’ tongue darts out, tasting Martín’s skin for the first time, right under his ear.

“I’m sorry, don’t you like it?”

Martín closes his eyes, defeated.

“Yes.”

His hands are curling against the cold wall.

“Good.”

Andrés’ voice is so low that it sends another shiver down Martín’s back. 

His hand moves up Martín’s chest and to his collar, where his fingers dip under the shirt, feeling his skin.

His other hand is on Martín’s hip, where his thumb sneaks under the shirt to just rest against Martín’s skin. The way Andrés’ breathing changes makes Martín’s almost stop.

Suddenly Andrés closes the distance between them and presses one of his thighs between Martín’s legs, to his very hard cock. Martín whimpers and Andrés lets out a small, satisfied laugh.

Martín’s fingers twitch against the wall, his nails scraping against it, but he doesn’t dare to touch Andrés. He moves his hips a little, though, not being able to hold back, and moans when he feels the friction.

Andrés pulls his thigh away, and Martín resists the urge to chase it. Andrés pulls his head back, too, and slowly takes off his jacket, folding it, and neatly places it on the desk next to him. Then he turns to Martín again. Looking him in the eyes, he gently takes Martín’s hands and places them on his hips, adding pressure to tell him that this is where they should stay. 

Andrés’ own hands are placed against the wall when he leans in and buries his head in the crook of Martín’s neck. He closes the distance between their bodies, and Martín moans when he feels Andrés’ erection pressing against his own. He stays completely still, but his fingers dig into Andrés’ hips. 

Andrés opens his mouth against Martín’s collarbone, and Martín revels in the wet sensation just before Andrés starts grinding against him. 

“Fuck—” he says in a shaky voice. 

It feels too good. It’s just their erections against each other, fully clothed, and it shouldn’t feel so good. But somehow it’s the hottest thing Martín has ever experienced. 

Andrés doesn’t make a sound, but he keeps up a steady rhythm, breathing against the wet spot he left on Martín’s skin. Martín, on the other hand, isn’t capable of controlling the sounds coming out of his mouth. 

“You like this, huh?” Andrés mumbles against his neck. 

Martín doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have to, his body gives him away. Andrés shifts to change the angle a bit, and magically, this feels even better. When Andrés picks up the pace, Martín realizes that he won’t be able to hold back for long.

“Andrés—” 

He twists his fingers frantically.

“Tell me, Martín—“ Andrés’ breathing is uneven, too “—if you were on a date with me, you wouldn’t have gone home, would you? You would have begged me to fuck you, right?”

Andrés pauses to let his teeth scrape against Martín’s neck, and Martín is unable to control himself, moving his hips frantically against Andrés.

“Say it, Martín,” Andrés pants. “Beg me to— fuck you—”

“Please—” Martín whines, his hands moving to Andrés’ ass to pull him close, to press himself against him as he comes in his pants. 

Andrés lets out a groan and lets Martín stay like that for a while, holding him close, before he chuckles softly and pulls away. Andrés’ eyes dart to Martín’s crotch when he says:

“You’ll have to hurry if you want to save the suit.”

He caresses Martín’s cheek before he turns around and walks to his room.


End file.
